


Fuck the Vote

by grumpyphoenix



Series: Brain Salad [21]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Face-Fucking, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, Light Dom/sub, Not Beta Read, Other, POV Second Person, Who the Reader is is ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: Misha Collins will do anything to get you to vote.





	Fuck the Vote

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Kinktober: Face-Fucking  
> That damn picture of Misha's vote belt buckle made this happen. This is not my fault.
> 
> I'm also not posting to the kinktober collection, but I'm using their prompts because of a variety of reasons.

You’re still looking at the script when you climb the steps to your trailer, grumbling irritably under your breath about delays in the shooting schedule. It isn’t like you don’t understand that people want to vote, but it just makes the day longer. There’s a few hours open in the schedule so everyone can go, but...

“It’s not like I vote anyway,” you mutter as you pull the trailer door shut firmly.

“Well, that’s not good,” comes a voice from your couch. Misha’s casually leaning back in it, a cocky smirk on his face.

Rolling your eyes, you dump the script onto the coffee table. “Well, just make yourself at home, I guess.”

That’s when you notice the belt buckle. It’s ostentatious and enormous, red white and blue with little stars. It screams  _ VOTE!!   _ at you, making you laugh despite your real dedication to your irritable mood. When he clears his throat, it reminds you suddenly that you’ve been staring at his crotch for a minute or so. When you look up, his grin is insufferable.

“Like what you see?” Misha lifts an eyebrow, like he doesn’t know that you want him. All the time.

You shrug. “Well, it’s a stupid belt buckle. Voting is useless anyway, it’s rigged, and nothing  _ I  _ do is going to make a difference.”

MIsha gets an intense look, standing up. It isn’t angry, but it makes you want to step backwards. You hold your ground instead as he comes towards you. He gets up into your face, so close that you can smell that goddamned cologne, and at this point the shudder through your body is pavlovian. Honestly, it’s a mystery how you get through the long work days without making an enemy out of wardrobe. He reaches out and runs the tips of his fingers through your hair, over your ears, then your lips. One thumb pushes, and you let it in, sucking lightly. As much as you love it, maybe you should stop him.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says with a smile that makes you want to punch him and kiss him, “You’re going to get on your knees. I’m going to come in your throat, and then we’re going to go vote.”

“My throat. Wouldn’t this be better lying down?”

“No. Just like this. You can take it.”

“I’m…not...I’m not even registered.”

“Yes, you are, I did it for you. On your knees.”

He pushes with the subtlest of pressure, and you sink down, shaking just a little. You want it bad, but Misha’s going to fuck your face, which you’ve only done a few times. You were lying down, and he was so careful, but - it’s scary, and you fear the loss of control, even though your body is nearly vibrating with want. You look up at him, his crotch in your face, with that damned belt buckle glaring at you, he cradles your head in his hand. The look Misha gives you is expectant and arrogant. You want to rip that damn thing off him with your teeth, but you don’t move; he’s trained you too well for that. Slowly, eyes locked with yours, he unbuckles the thing himself, and pushes his jeans and underwear down just enough.

“Breathe.” his fingers card through your hair, grounding you. Reminding you that it will be okay. Misha will take care of you.

Hard, a pearl of precome at the tip, his cock pushes into your mouth. He smells and tastes divine. Closing your eyes, you lose yourself to sucking it, running the flat of your tongue over the shaft as you take it deeper, getting into a rhythm. Misha pets your hair, whispering your name under his breath, encouraging and sweet. It makes you forget. Until he starts to push.

Fingers tightening in your hair, Misha pushes further in, until his cock is deep in your throat, and your nose is flat against his groin. Your whole body goes still; he pulls out enough for you to let out a breath and take another one through your nose quickly before he does it again. He’s done with letting you get used to it. Misha starts fucking your throat in earnest.

Nothing else in the world exists but this, MIsha’s hands gripping your hair painfully tight as he growls your name, his cock huge and hard and unforgiving. The only thing you can do is try to breathe when you can, rocking your hips helplessly. You’re drippingly, ragingly turned on, and there is nothing you can do to relieve it. Fumbling with your own pants provokes an angry swat and a punishing moment where you wonder if he’ll actually let you pass out on his dick. At least the jeans you’re wearing are tight enough to provide some kind of friction, but it isn’t enough.

Misha whispers endearments as he fucks your throat, pet names he’s given you every time you do as you’re told. His excitement is contagious, running through you like electricity. He’s going to come, you want him to come, your body shakes with desire and overstimulation. Then he does, holding your head fast in his surprisingly strong hands, making you take it. He pumps into your throat, and you choke on it, stinging up through your nose as you helplessly swallow and swallow.

Pulling out slowly, he rubs the head along your lips, smearing come there, and then tucks himself away. He still has that look on his face, although his cheeks are flushed, and he’s panting. You know you look wrecked, and you’re vibrating with the feeling of almost coming untouched in your pants. Misha traces his fingers along your jaw.

“Good. Very good. I knew you could do it.”

Misha helps you up, still smug.  “Now, let’s go vote. Then afterwards, maybe we can see about the situation you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Wiping the back of your hand over your lips, you follow him. If anyone else notices your fucked up hair and glazed look, it’s probably something they’re used to now.

You’ve never wanted to vote so much in your life.


End file.
